


A Reckless Gambit

by Ammeh



Series: FE3H Wankfic [9]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Danger Kink, F/F, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Onscreen Assassination, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: Catherine's supposed to play bait on an assassination mission and has some unconventional ideas about how to present herself as a vulnerable target. (Shamir probably won't mind the eyeful, right?)
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Series: FE3H Wankfic [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862374
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	A Reckless Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 of FE3H Wank Week - Free Day!

It's Catherine's fifth time in Derdriu, and she's here to kill a man.

Technically, three of the other times she was _also_ here to kill a man, but that was raiding bases and taking out plots and gangs. This is one specific man, with some vendetta against the church and two dead Knights to his name.

She's not clear on the details, or his reasons, and she doesn't care to know. Lady Rhea thinks he needs to be killed, and that's good enough for her. She's not strong enough to make these kinds of calls without the what-if's eating away at her. She knows she can count on Lady Rhea's judgment to be wise, impartial, the closest thing to divine...but she'll still sleep better if she doesn't have to grapple with the factors that went into her decision.

She's got the boring part of this mission. The loud, infamous Knight of Seiros staying at a local inn, trying to lure this dissident out. She'd spent two hours in the tavern (poison antidotes ready) with no luck—now she's supposed to fuck around in her room (chosen to be easily assailable from a nearby rooftop) for the rest of the evening to see if he's waiting to strike when she's alone and unarmed.

Shamir is...somewhere. Catherine's not sure where, but she trusts her partner to be prepped and ready, in some spot she's guaranteed to notice and take the guy out before he manages to break in and kill Catherine in her plainclothes. This is another area where she's learned to have faith. It doesn't do them any good if Catherine's worrying over parts of the mission she can't control. She just needs to find people she can rely on to handle things correctly and trust them.

She didn't bring much to do, though, so she's kind of bored. She's polished her armor already. Weapon maintenance is out if she wants to look unarmed and vulnerable. She's read through her fake “mission notes” twice, and she didn't bring ink in her fake luggage to write a letter. She really wants to stand at the open window and pretend to look out over the city to see if she can spot Shamir, but she can hear the lecture about scaring off the target already. What to do...

At least she's in a well-furnished inn room. She thinks about Shamir, crouched on a rooftop or something, waiting with deadly focus for someone to try climbing into Catherine's window. It's kind of damp out—Catherine feels bad for her, out in the weather with no battle rush to distract her. Hopefully the guy comes in soon.

Huh. Maybe it's the thrill of danger, but she's feeling a little turned on. It's unorthodox, but maybe...

She runs a hand up her side, considering. Nobody should be able to see into the room unless they're trying to scope it out. Shamir's seen her naked a dozen times, no room for modesty on long missions. And the target should be dead shortly, she doesn't give that much of a shit if they get an eyeful first.

Decided, she tugs her tunic over her head and tosses it on the chair. She stretches, back to to the open window, before shucking her trousers, underwear, and short stays.

Hopefully Shamir doesn't mind the eyeful, if she's got a view into the room.

Heh. Catherine can just imagine her eye twitching as she tries not to react to Catherine going this far off script.

At least, she assumes this wasn't an expected part of the script. _She_ wasn't expecting it.

She flops back onto the bed, splays herself across the covers with her head on the pillow. Should she get under the sheet? Nah, It might look shady, who masturbates under covers?

Taking care to keep her eyes closed, she runs her hands down her body, feeling the ridges of old scars. Her nipples are tight from the cool air of the room, stiff against her palms when she grabs her tits in both hands and squeezes.

...Does she look realistically distracted? Maybe she shouldn't have kicked off a plan like this without consulting with Shamir first. Shamir always makes these subterfuge missions seem so effortless, but they're really not Catherine's thing. Oh well, she's committed now.

Her sword callouses catch on her nipples as she kneads her tits, trying to relax her mind enough to get worked up. Shamir's got her back. She's watching the window, bow nocked, ready to kill anyone who tries to get into the room.

Okay, that helped. Heat's starting to gather between her legs.

She reaches down and pinches the lips of her pussy together around her clit, trying to land on something to think about. Her last good lay...definitely not, that fling ended too awkwardly. Lady Rhea's hips—no, that topic is officially forbidden in the interests of being able to give mission reports without blushing. Sighing, she tries to conjure the image of some faceless but attractive person she picked up at a tavern.

It's not working, her mind keeps going back to the mission. Shamir's out there on some rooftop, possibly ticked off at her, definitely scanning the area like a hawk. She could be right behind the guy and he'd never know, she's silent as a ghost. She's got a weapon in her hands, she's wearing those leather gloves that she never takes off...

Her cunt's starting to make wet noises as she plays with the lips, so she slides her fingers down, playing with the shaft of her clit through the skin, rubbing half-circles above the oversensitive nub.

Maybe it's because she's focused on her hands, but her thoughts return to those gloves. The ones she wears with her gauntlets are thicker, a little textured, but she's felt Shamir's—they're thin and supple, almost like a second skin. Wearing something like that for this could be kind of fun, actually. Groping her chest with buttery-smooth leather rather than her calloused fingers, sliding it up her thigh...

She shifts her fingers lower, circling around her hole before pushing two fingers inside and feeling for the spot she likes. Probably not great for the leather, but _that_ might be interesting with a gloved hand, too. The sleek, impassive feel of the leather against her inner lips, fingers getting her off without actually being able to directly touch her—hmm.

Actually, has Shamir ever gotten herself off in her gloves? She's hesitant to take them off, even for meals. On missions she even sleeps with one hand gloved in case she needs to use the dagger under her pillow. She probably has, hasn't she?

The image pops into her head with razor sharpness. Shamir leaning naked against a column in the training grounds, running one black-gloved hand down her side while the other squeezes her tit. Her head tilting back as her gloved hand slinks down her thigh and between her legs.

Wait, why is she in the training grounds? That doesn't make any sense. What the hell, brain.

Catherine steers her focus back to her faceless partner, digging her fingers up into her sensitive spots and pretending she's faced with a pair of fantastic tits. A nipple framed by leather-clad fingers...sure, why not, it's a sexy image. She can appreciate the sexiness without making it weird by imagining someone she knows. Who might be watching her right now. Rolling her eyes, probably.

Potential audience aside, she's starting to get into it. She works her fingers inside herself, hips jerking slightly against the bed. A few soft moans leak out of her—she's _loud_ , normally, but the walls in the inn are wood, not stone, and she's only down to give so many free shows per night.

Did she just hear something outside? Probably. Maybe.

A particularly good angle startles a groan out of her, and unprompted she imagines a leather-clad hand clamping over her mouth, a sharp whisper in her ear. _“Don't jeopardize the mission._ ”

...She recognizes that voice. Fuck.

She _really_ doesn't want to complicate a great working relationship like this. It's probably just her mind making weird connections given the situation. And anyway, making a loud target of herself is the _point_ here, fuck you Shamir.

Doggedly, she wipes her mind of any imaginary partner whatsoever, and also the fact that she _absolutely_ hears some variety of something outside. She gives her nipple one last hard tweak before sucking two fingers into her mouth and bringing them down, down—

The shutter creaks quietly and she looks up to a hand on the windowsill. That's all she sees before the loud _thunk_ of arrow meeting body. The hand slides backwards and disappears. There's a muted thud from the ground below.

Somewhere in the middle of this, her fingers finally make contact with her clit and she comes like a wildfire. _Fuck_.

Even shuddering with aftershocks, she at least maintains the presence of mind to go verify that the target is, indeed, dead. She grabs the dagger that she left under the pillow before opening the curtains, and sticks her head out the window.

Yep. Looks pretty dead.

Belatedly, she realizes that even if Shamir didn't have a view inside the room from her vantage point, she now knows that Catherine's naked. And this was almost certainly an unnecessary risk. Even if it worked like a charm.

...And gave her a few realizations she'd rather not think about. This is definitely going into the Rhea bucket of awkward sexual revelations.

Squaring her shoulders to tighten her resolve on the matter, she pulls on her underwear and dips a cloth into the washbasin to clean off her hands. Shamir's pretty quick at disposing of bodies, and she'd rather not have this conversation naked.

She's fully dressed and sitting on the bed by the time Shamir knocks. Catherine shoves her makeshift doorjam out of the way and opens it.

Shamir doesn't make eye contact as she walks in. She shuts the door behind her, latches it, then walks across the room and shuts the window. “Target's dead,” she says, gaze fixed somewhere above Catherine's shoulder.

“Good,” Catherine says.

Shamir crosses her arms and finally makes eye contact. Flat, exasperated eye contact. “What was that?”

Catherine spreads her arms, indicating her unharmed self. “Hey. It worked! I was gonna go crazy if I had to sit around doing nothing for another two hours.”

“It was an unnecessary risk.” Shamir says, voice sharp. “You left yourself completely undefended.”

Catherine shakes her head. “Not at all. I had you, didn't I?”

Shamir has this noise, a particular little hiss of air, that Catherine's learned means _I'm flattered but you're still an idiot._ It doesn't usually come with a flash of color on her cheeks, but maybe that compliment hit particularly hard. “You shouldn't rely on me to always be ready to save you. Look after yourself too.”

“I also had a dagger! And I probably could have thrown the chamber pot by the time he hauled himself into the room.”

“ _T_ c _h_.” Annnd that noise means _I'm done with this_. “Get some rest. Our mission was successful, so we should set off at first light.”

“Aye aye. See you in the morning. You get some rest too.”

Shamir clears her throat and nods. She doesn't say anything else before she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Well. That could've been more awkward. A lot more awkward, actually.

She knew there was a good reason Shamir was her favorite mission partner.

\--

Shamir waits until she's back in her room, at a different inn several blocks away, to slap a palm over her face and groan. Her cheeks feel hot under her hand. 

_Shit_.


End file.
